


Merry Apocalypse

by MistressOfJam



Category: Apocalyptic Horseplay
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 03:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17052017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfJam/pseuds/MistressOfJam
Summary: The four retired horsemen of the apocalypse aren't fond of Christmas, due to past ignorance (the birth of Christ really brought back hope, and despite their growing acceptance for it, old habits die hard) and inconvenience of appearance to even bother Christmas shopping.However, this year, with Angela by their side, and as a woman with essential needs, the horsemen find themselves shoved into a bustling mall in the city, dragged into chaotic sprees of shopping...tis' the season to be apocalyptic! (Takes place before they were chased out, and before the dark flashbacks..basically if Angela was in a Christmas mood around the time she was hired)Dedicated to @tboredman  on Tumblr, or you can check his work out on Webtoon.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to mister Telaniel, the cartoonist. Pardon the folly mistakes and myself...

"It's Christmas," was an abnormally normal thing to exclaim around the edge of the year, with the forts of snow and littered branches, and the dazzling fairy lights across the neighbour's house, yes, no one could miss its conspicuousness, especially not them; the horsemen lurking in the retreats of their own Victorian home, dare their wandering eyes even glance past the porches of stockings and green wreaths?....Of course not, Mot chuffed a chilly breath, not that it was even common for a skeleton to heave.

He pulled the curtains close, jingling the rings that cuffed the pole above, and held them in place. The shaft of sunlight stopped filtering in, trapped at the borders of the moth-eaten cloth. And even then, the whole house was a standstill, because nothing ever seemed to happen inside, contrary to the presence of their inhabitants. The fireplace crackled with charcoal and etched the marks of ashes and half-cut logs within, and often Mot caught glimpsed the flames flickering back and forth, which led to some suspicion that perhaps, there was a hole somewhere in the walls that allowed ribbons of a passing wind to intrude. 

But of course, that wasn't important, he was not amused- this was how they spent Christmas every year, after all. Through the pelting of rain, or embankment of snow growing by the edge of their doorstep, it didn't matter, for they were trivial things, such as how Mot saw their current state: Retired beings of calamity resorting into a quiet, tranquil life, who once thought they were significant, but in reality, they were just books, and despite the harm they may bring to the minds of humanity, they were powerless should they be forgotten ; hence the explanation, anyway.

"Ugh, it's Christmas, what are you guys even doing in here?" 

The front door clicked open rather roughly, and Mot snapped his head away from the flurry of black-white texts of the newspaper in hand, standing up. He heard the shuffling of slippers and his doormat (which, with the words 'WELCOME' half faded, didn't add to help the mystery swarming up the house) being ruffled in the process, before a skinny figure or shadow, loomed the walls of the entrance.

"Miss Trisher," he forgot when, but he never switched from the whole last name basis concept to calling her first, "What business do you have here today?"

"What?" he saw the faint outline of her striped yellow shirt swaying, then her whole body erupting into the living room, and she had this usual look of both contemplation along with scrutiny, but regardless whatever she expressed, it would only be either, or none at all, "It's Christmas, aren't you guys going out or anything? And..where are your decorations?" She placed her taut, scrawny arms around her waist, examining the dark, barren ceilings and floorboards which contributed in decoration only with unneeded creaks when stomp on.

"Ah," Mot pushed up the frame of his glasses to the bridge of his bony nose, his hands by his back as of perpetuation lately, "You must be wondering why we don't hang up decorations or Christmas trees. Well, truth to be told, Christmas is a disturbing time for us, despite what happiness it might bring for you humans."

"...So, basically," Angela held up a finger to stop him on the spot (Mot had a gut instinct that if he tried to get past that gesture, she would raise her voice so that it was higher than his, because it was a feeling that even his dark threats might not even stop her decibels then), "You're jealous?"

How she came up with that anti-climatic and not to mention, ridiculous, conclusion was beyond even his century wise of intellect.

"...what gave you that idea?" he had to inquire, because despite being an attribute created by humanity, he still understood little of what they think and act, which said a lot about his ignorance of his past, and served no good to that either way.

"Uhm," Angela must have felt the same way, that her response was inappropriate, because her eyes noticeably drooped and shot to the corner of the drawing room, along with her growing grimace (but honestly, it was the unchanging expression of Mot that concerned her well-being, really), "You know, cause you said about it being happy for us and all, so I assumed..." Her voice trailed off, because temporarily her mind failed to call up any more explanations to that, so it resulted in a fast drop for the atmosphere.

"That we weren't happy?" Mot offered to fill in the blanks.

"......I, well," the corners of Angela's lips twitched involuntarily to a wide, awkward, smile, "Uh, never mind what I said. That was a bit stupid, but anyway...how's the gang?"

"The gang?" Mot repeated, but not rhetorical.

"I basically just asked how are you, or any of your colleagues are feeling for that matter," Angela's hands were back by her hips once more, "How's anything coming along? Are you guys busy? What about that newspaper you guys use to work on?"

"Not particularly busy," Mot replied, setting aside his rolled up newspaper on a table by the fireplace, "And we're feeling neutral, as usual. Things barely bother us these days. And as for the newspaper...we're trying, but there doesn't seem to be a lot of...activity circulating good acts right now, which is...unfortunate, of course. But if you're looking for the others, Marvin's upstairs using the computer with Warrace, and Pesty is in the basement."

"Hmm..." Angela audibly hummed, blinking at him, then narrowed her eyes, as though she was recalling something important, or trying to squeeze an idea into her mind, but then pulled her gaze away and grinned (this woman, Mot swore internally, she scares him with her unpredictable thoughts at times!). She proceeded to wordlessly trudge upstairs, and the way she marched up those steps flicked a hint of confusion in him, that she was so familiar with this place already (or perhaps, just some journalistic instinct), but shrugged it off by staring deeply into the fireplace again.

"Hey guys!" he heard her throw open the door above, then her voice trailed further away as she must have entered briefly, "....What are you guys doing?" And he heard no more.

"Angela, Marv bought one of those internet connection thingies, and now we can finally access the web," Warrace turned around, and she was just as beefy as she remembered him to be, with his strange red skin and wide grin, "We're currently looking at cooking recipes for roast turkey." He pointed vaguely at the monitor's bright screen, and there it was playing a video of a woman brandishing a stainless steel brand of knife at the board, explaining softly due to the lack of tuning the volume.

"But do you guys have turkey?" Angela frowned, leaning over one side of Marvin's shoulder, eyes on the screen, "Do you guys even have a fridge?"

"Of course we do," Marvin grunted, moving the black mouse around the table every few seconds, "We just don't have the turkey."

"Nor any other thing the lady mentioned in the video," Warrace murmured quietly to himself, to which Marvin must have taken offense to, turning around on his stiff, wooden chair, "Well, I'm sorry that we're POOR."

"But it's fitting, ain't it?" Warrace looked like he was about to collapse into a fit of laughter, wheezing stiffled chuckles through his bared grin, eyeing mainly at Marvin.

"Did you just-" Marvin paused the video, incredulous with his hands up to accompany the sheer expression on his face, "Did you just imply that just because I use to make people poor, I-"

"Pfft," Angela laughed a little, "Can't you guys just buy one? The mall is nearby, and it'll be just in time for Christmas."

Marvin recoiled and frowned, and Warrace seized his laughter at once, "Christmas..? We don't really uh, celebrate that."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Angela huffed, sighing, "Look, it'll be a new experience. I'm willing to bet that you guys don't even know what a mistletoe is. Or the lyrics to 'Deck the Halls'. Or even basic shopping for anything, actually. The point is...." Angela raised both hands, but it was one of those extremely vague gestures defining subtlety and calmness, "How about you guys try to do Christmas for once? Maybe buy yourselves something nice. But you don't even have to decorate, or even buy anything, but I'm asking you to follow me for a very, teeny-tiny trip to the mall for a bit of shopping. Maybe it'll change your minds about Christmas then. So. What do you say?"

Marvin knitted his eyes together, and Warrace glanced skeptically at the other horseman, and their eyes flashed with concern and curiosity. Christmas was a bit foreign to them, regardless of what rumors might mention. Sure, they witness the savior being born, and hope being restored, but they were hesitant, because the snow outside didn't ease their manacles to the past, nor did the humans who were happy. What if something bad happened to them? But they sworn off their powers, didn't they..? But the biggest obstacle was inevitably, Mot. Trying to get him to budge was like attempting to recover from one of those indignant pop up advertisements which commercialized well, things, that it was possible, but difficult all the same.

"..Well, I don't know, Angela," Marvin spoke up, his eyes shifting from the screen and settled onto her, "Even if we wanted to, Mot..."

The rest was self-explanatory.

"But if Mot agrees, then it's a yes, right?" Angela worked out non-mathematical equations in her mind, reeling possibilities in and out, "Well, time to show him the power of convincing." Angela doubted her own conviction at the last word, but she had to try, one way or another to make him cave into it. It was such a simple request: LET US GO TO THE MALL FOR CHRISTMAS FOR A CHANGE THIS YEAR, but it seemed just a little challenging to persuade the horseman of death for her.

Well, go big or go home, she supposed.

"Pesty, are you down here?" she rapped at the basement door a few times, and when she got no reply she twisted the doorknob and sauntered down a tedious spiraled stairway composed of cement slabs stuck to the side of the wall, somewhat reminding her of Dominoes. The basement emitted a strange green light from the looming test tubes which bubbled occasionally in their plugged place. And bent over a long, scarred wooden desk was Pesty, in all of his short glory. Angela watched for a while, transfixed at his swishing, orange ponytail and his murmurs as he urgently uncapped several corks off their tubes, which she had no doubt must be his bacterium(s).

"Pesty, are those going to..invade my system again?" she abruptly asked, since the first incident here at this house left her unconscious for a few hours, and it was that which set her to meet them the first place, a burnt memory but a strange one nonetheless, "Like the last time?"

"Miss Trisher! I didn't see you there," he almost jumped, startled as his knee caps smacked the edge of the table, inducing a small wince. The tubes on the table top rattled and rolled, rocking. He clutched his knees in slight agony, but smiled anyways at the sight of a friend who's outside the perimeter of the three horsemen, "Uh, these? No, they're quite docile, as long as you don't get in their way...or uh, inhale them."

"But I'm standing right here-oh god," had she been respiring in contaminated airs again?

"No, no, it's fine, I've got it under control," Pesty assured her, waving his arms frantically, "I don't sense them in you, so you're still healthy." Angela sighed in relief as he mumbled to himself again, this time beckoning the air, before he tapped the cork back into place on the test tube. "Well, that aside, why are you looking for me?" he asked, picking up the remnants and slotting them neatly into a test tube rack on the side of the table. Once he was finished busying, he turned around and gave Angela one of his small, placid smiles again, "Why did you even come to visit us today? Ain't it Christmas up there?"

"Well, yes, which was why I came here the first place," Angela rubbed the back of her neck, eyes closed with contemplation to put it, "You see, I, uh, asked Marvin and Warrace if they wanted to come along with me for a little Christmas shopping trip in the nearby mall, and they agreed, but they mentioned Mot's approval in all that. But I would like to ask you, too, whether if you're up to joining me for shopping at all. I know that maybe you are guys and all, and probably don't shop as much as I do, but..."

Pesty did not take long to consider. A trip to a mall of people was a bit intimidating for him to interact with, but with the thought of seeing new things and a new atmosphere was refreshing, "Hm, I don't see why not. But Mot really is the stick between the gap, so how are we supposed to convince him?"

"Trust me, I've got an idea," came the shadiest and untrustworthy reply of centuries, but Angela wasn't in a mood for recherche right now, so she just signaled silently for him to follow her upstairs, along with the others to follow her to the main room.

X

"No. Absolutely not," Mot answered firmly, and he would have been considered glaring if he had eyes in his sockets, but it didn't need to grow a pair for Angela to see the solemness radiating off his growing, ragged hood, "First off, it's too risky. If someone sees us, they'll be spreading strange news, and we'll be haunted by the people of the church, or other deadly worldly forces. Second, we don't look human enough, which puts us back at the first- our appearance really matters too much."

"...you look like an old man in suspenders and you want to complain you're not human enough," Angela drawled, then face-palmed physically.

"Miss Trisher, I'm a skeleton disguised as an old man in suspenders," Mot corrected her sternly, "If some child comes waddling in my direction, they can immediately see that I am composed of bones, which will lead to parental fuss, and our cover being blown." As though to demonstrate his point, he mimed an explosion (a gesture Warrace often acquaints and is familiar with) and pulled the strap of his suspenders with the tip of his thumbs.

Angela stared at the four horsemen altogether; the big picture. Marvin looked like a shriveled vulture in a red piece of clothing, with his conspicuous, yellow beak protruding with sharp teeth, and overall, he looked most inhuman compared to Warrace or Pesty. Her mind turned, trying to click into sense of what could be done to improve that, and it finally snapped into place as she thought about gas masks. Maybe she could adjust a few strands of his hair so that they obscure minuscule parts of his beak, but the majority should be shielded with a white, surgical face mask with extended straps. The side of it could be covered up if Marvin wore clothes with high collars or in a sense of fashion, tufts of fur, like an exaggerated Lady Gaga outfit would do the trick. She squinted and focused the mental figure of him with those patch ups, and she nodded silently.

"She's trying to give us a make over," Mot whispered to the three horsemen with an internal voice that telepathically transmitted to their minds, to which he quickly saw the morbid expressions they gave in return at him. She ignored them to get a better view of Warrace, tuning out the additional noises in the background. A red man like that....she forced mental images of him in different clothing or appearance, trying to see if something would be suitable for him to wear, but appealing to not be noticed by humans the same time. "Top hat," she snapped her fingers, imitating the aura of a professional planner. If someone inquired about his red skin, she would answer for him that it was due to over tanning in the California sun. Speaking of skin, the idea of Marvin wearing black gloves and leather boots sprang into the midst of her thoughts, and she turned a bit to grin at him.

"Why is she looking at me like that?..." Marvin nudged Warrace, who fell into the veil of obedience to remain silent under the sweeping gaze cast by Angela. No one dared to move, even though she was human, there was something about her that made her seem like a mouse trap- one slip and she'll snap..or slap, in this case. And plus, they were curious either way, to see what she could come up for their poor choice of clothes (well, technically, not poor choice, but just...needs more human..), so they stared, but unfocused, thinking and tuning their mind to see if Mot was going to send another telepathic message.

"Mot can wear more layers of clothes to shield his skeletal structures..." she murmured, blinking profusely, then tilting her head again to the side to scrutinize that, "A hood and another surgical mask to shield his skull...leggings for his legs and boots for his feet!" Mot jerked into reality at his mention, "Leggings and hood? That's...a strange compliment of clothing for me...I would really prefer if you didn't, Miss-"

"You can't go out like that, case closed, now it's Pesty's turn," Angela turned sharply towards the shorter being, who dreaded his demise. "Please, nothing very bad for my clothing, please," Pesty grinned nervously, fidgeting his hands, then mentally screamed that this was what centuries of English as a lexicon contributed- 'nothing very bad'. He could have used 'disastrous', but he had to go with a sentence of crumpled, broken English. Too late to take back his words, but he didn't carry his own slip of wordings as no one seemed to notice anyway.

Oddly enough, she did not remark on his clothing.

"Lucky bastard," Marvin cursed as his freedom to his own clothing was foiled, "Unfair! Prejudice! Why doesn't Pesty get a change? Why just us?!" Marvin looked like a wild wreck as he swung his fist at the air, perhaps cussing out at God, then hissed at Angela, "No! You won't ever put on whatever nightmarish demonic clothing you have in mind! You can't make me!" Angela snorted at his breakdown, "Calm down, Ed, your clothing isn't going to look as bad as you think, trust me on this. Warrace, you have only minor changes, so fear not, along with Mot. The three of you are only going to have your clothing changed, that's all."

"May I ask, quoting directly from Marvin's question, why doesn't Pesty get a change? Why is it just the three of us? Despite appearances, Miss Trisher, Pesty does not actually look as human if he stands within a crowd," Mot spoke up, gesturing at the green horseman with much refrain, "Admittedly he is human enough in manners and appearance, but his skin...."

"I've got other plans for him," Angela halted Mot right there, which paled the complexion of horseman of diseases greatly, "Other..plans?" Not that he didn't trust her, no, but what if he was forced out of his clothing, and even worse, perhaps she wanted him to dress like a clown of sort? Little bit of dignity remained in him, and it bothered him to ever be concerned about his clothing...to think that such a day would arrive...

But Angela had already began leading Warrace and Marvin upstairs first, and Pesty sneaked them a glance of pity, as they would go first, but he suppressed those thoughts, wondering whatever could the human have for him in store. "..bullshit," he heard Marvin grumble before the door closed behind them, and only their shifting footsteps could be heard thumping the floors after that.

X

"Ta-da!" Angela exclaimed proudly at her handiwork. Marvin shook his head, sighing and cursing more audibly than ever, but in discreet he examined his gloves and strewn hair, remembering the old times, and laughable was that he used to be infatuated with this style of clothing. "There goes my last shred of dignity as a horseman," he never believed he would be able to even utter that, it was ineffable! But there he was, sauntering down the stairs with black gloves, long everything and wearing a coat with white fur at the rim, effectively shielding his beak and neck (but unfortunately, not his dignity). His white surgical mask seemed to be the only good thing that didn't tear away that last shred, or what was even left of it.

"Get a load of this dude," Warrace wheezed hacking laughter, his shoulders trembling and his grin uncontrollably wide. He jabbed a finger at a melancholic Marvin, trying not to spill out the build of cackles in his senses, "Look at him! Look at him, Mot! Does anyone have a camera? Ha-haha!" Mot did not look at either of them. Warrace slapped his knee, laughing and wheezing, not at all bothered by his only addition of a tall top hat, which, sad to say, was still not as ridiculous as Marvin's clothing. "Shut your damn trap, Warrace," the Lady Gaga gender-bend turned his heels abruptly and sneered, "Look at you, with your top hat! Unfitting!" But Warrace was lost in his hysterics of trying to contain his own laughter, and even Pesty chuckled, undignified.

"This is still pretty comfy," Warrace smoothed his clothes, "And cooling....Even though it's winter, I've been through worse." Marvin just harrumphed and sat arms-crossed on the couch, resorting to recite curses he recalled in books written by witches. Mot, of course, went next, but they couldn't read the grim expression on his face, or as a matter of saying, 'the stick up his ass', but no one said that aloud, not even in their minds. "Cheer up, Marv! It's not that bad," Pesty took a seat on the cushion besides him, trying to placate Marvin, "It looks like a weird fashion trend, that's all. In fact, I like the gloves..."

"Don't worry Mot you're doing great," Angela gave him a sloppy thumbs-up as he exited the room and slowly walked down the stairs, and all eyes in the living room turned to him. Oh no, they all thought simultaneously, so loud that he definitely heard the waves of that thought from this distance, Mot was by far the most well dressed, and human, after the help of Angela. His black boots clacked the floorboards, deeming that unworthy to be in his presence, but even that was an understatement, for death himself have never been so tempting to be, with his fancy, dark coat with polished buttons (Angela repeatedly scrubbed them, and Mot had to remain silent the whole process) and his hood was a part of his ragged, shadowy cloak that trailed midair behind him. His leggings were.."Didn't Angela said leggings?" Warrace remarked, "She changed it to pants!" The black, fitting pants on him only added to his flair of clothing, and now he looked like a strange, timely man, but humane.

"I call bullshit," Marvin yelled towards the stairs, "Why is he more better looking than us?"

"He looks better than you only, specifically!" Warrace hollered, launching himself into another overdrive of laughter, rumbling the cushion they shared.

Pesty chuckled, eyeing the stairs, that in the end, it was still his turn to be last, "I'm in danger." Warrace sent him off with a pat on the back, barely assuring as he was the most chaotic among them, but Mot gave a solid nod, "You'll be fine." He turned back to face the daunting stairs, which seemed to call out to him, that it was not his choice, that Angela was in position here to help him. Hesitantly, he cast an aloof gaze at Marvin who seemed to be the only reject, and could only hope luck wasn't about to choose him as the next victim. With that, he walked up the stairs and entered the room.

..."Gee, Angela is taking awfully long with Pesty," Warrace commented after counting to a full ten minutes on the cushion, shifting his weight on it, and on cue came the scream from upstairs, which belonged to their friend. The shriek sliced through the wad of silence, and for once, the house no longer came to a sudden standstill. "...Do you think he'll chicken out?" Marvin chuckled eerily, glancing at Mot's direction. Mot seemed stiffer than ever, and despite his rigid limits as a skeleton, he had never seemed so tense. "Why did he scream? Uh uh-uh, something must have happened," Warrace clicked his tongue, and even he couldn't solve the puzzle as to what shook the horseman a floor above them. Something really...terrible, maybe. "Don't tell me she stripped him or something, because that would really be-" Marvin whispered loud enough for them to hear, and Mot quickly instructed, "Erase that vile image of him in your mind, Marvin, or else..." Warrace held in laughter at his command, but one glance at Marvin's dumb clothing and he lost it again.

"I'm done guys," Angela finally opened the door and ushered him out, before shutting it behind her, "This is going to look out of place, but it suits him...I think." She strutted down the stairs before him, her hands outstretched like she was welcoming them to an exhibition or something. "I think she killed him," Warrace placed his bet. "Nah, he definitely chickened out," Marvin wagered otherwise, "Wait for it..."


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Chapter 1.

"I don't usually do this, but I can see the appeal to it," the words that came from Pesty rang with a sonorous clarity in the living room, as though he had been invigorated and confident (Angela actually slapped him a bit too hard on the back just for that) of what he was wearing. The others haven't heard him sound this pomp or clear since...well, better of not remembering those days, actually. "Oh this is weirder than a bet," Warrace craned his head backwards and his breath hitched, "Angela, do you know?"

"Know what?" she shot back, mainly fumbling her keys to flip out the one for the car whilst dusting her patched coat on the hook, "I mean, he looks okay, doesn't it?"

"Should we tell her- did you tell her, Pesty?" Marvin grimaced with concern, and he was not at ease at what Angela chose for him to wear, because if he didn't, either Angela sure had a cruel sense of humor or her journalistic instinct was beyond normal boundaries of coincidence, but even then the latter was inexpedient. "...I kept to myself," came his reply, the stairs creaking somewhere as he did, "I just didn't think it would match this, well, mismatch for the colours in the end, but...."

Pesty didn't change much of his clothes. The red ribbon stuck along, too, and he was currently wearing Angela's cap and black gloves for a change. "He looks okay, doesn't he?" Angela repeated as he emerged from the shadows of the stairs, like a demented Cinderella film, minus everything, "See? He looks...refreshing." The only uncanny thing that bothered them to begin with was his hair, which normally didn't start or involve in hooligans of confusion, but they weren't tied in a ponytail- Angela had untied it and let his hair down. Pesty was lying through his grin if he said he hated seeing his long hair curtain the sides of his face again, yet they were painful to stare at for too long, especially if he imagined too much along with his black gloves, his dark history was a crystal of display inwardly.

"Pesty, you're okay with this, right?" Angela asked, while the three horsemen behind her gave an intense and urgent 'cut it' gesture at the side of their throat to Pesty, since Angela's back faced them. His purple eyes flickered back and forth at his friends, then back at her, "Absolutely. I can deal with it. It's just a small trip, as you said." Marvin groaned and Warrace accompanied it with a murmur of, "Great, now it's a literal guilt trip", and it was Mot that didn't see much hassle to the reminiscence right in front of them. He was quiet, speaking only when necessary, and he stood up from his seat.

"Alright, see? Now everyone is covered, so even if someone hungry or sick or whatever sees you, there won't be an issue," Angela clasped her hands together, "Well, you guys ready? Let's go, then."

Angela twirled the chain of the key with her index finger, staring as the horsemen just stood there awkwardly, not moving. "What is it? I already told you you're not going to get spotted, even if by chance they glimpse you through any means! It's a billion percent foolproof," she huffed, tugging on her coat tight, and instinctively touched the air above her head, and then she realized her cap was already lent to Pesty.

"Yes, we know that," Mot placed his gloved hands together, steadily studying her with his hollowed sockets, "It's just that...excuse my straightness— we don't see why you're doing it for is. Doing.. All this. What is your ulterior motive?" Angela narrowed her eyes, slightly offended by that, but she glanced the rest of the harbingers, and their gaze dared not level hers.

"Uh... " she had a feeling maybe her gesture upset them, "I..Look, I'm not a villain, I don't have any schemes at the back. I'm going all this with you guys because...well, because...."

"..because?" Mot quietly prompted.

The house was a random standstill, like it always had been, and they were glad like that, for a few years, the absence of hindrance and humans were far away, that as long as the problems were out of the fences and perimeters of the house, it was not their problem. They had television. They knew what was going on, but then Angela came, and the interaction came so much different.

But then, being so close and friendly with a human's warmth was dangerous, like moths attracted to fire. Angela was the moth, and them, the bonfire of humanity's consequential end. Yet she wanted to come closer to them, and that was a haphazard flatter, and they found no voice to warn her at all.

"Because I don't have friends who celebrate Christmas with me, alright?" Angela let out an air of finality, a balled fist digging at her own scalp, she grimaced with her eyes shut, "My family.. They don't.. And Betty's busy working and I'm basically leeching off her and all.. And then I met you guys...! And..despite the fact you're all alleged beings of total destruction, so far I've seen that.. You.... Aren't actually like that.. At all."

"Miss Trisher..." Marvin's feeling towards his clothing faded dully, and a reborn of pain stirred at his core, contradicting that wistful day, staring into the eyes of a pained human, of the infliction..he was sure they all felt the same feeling to her words right now. The reoccurring feeling that was a cruel reminder that Angela's words could not justify their past.

"...My apologies for prying," Mot sighed, striding up to her, "Rarely do humans see the best of us, especially when we're the worst. Thank you for having faith in us, and for perceiving the better of what we want to be." He placed a hand slowly on one of her shoulder, "I don't understand humans much, but now I understand the importance of their faith."

"Heh...So, it's a yes?" Angela sniffled, recovering fast from her depressing moment, grinning at him, "Don't just stand there, y'all, it's Christmas!"

As they stepped over the doormat and into the open air, the winter breeze poured into the house, and the house was seemingly glad too, that it had new inhabitants. It ruffled past the few strings of curtains, and rattled the planks, but that was all there was to it, as Mot spared it one last peek, before shutting the door behind him.

X

"So, uh, how far is the mall?"

"It's in the city," Angela answered automatically, swerving the car to a sharp left, before she craned the glazed windows down and tossed the driver on the left lane a loud, "Watch the road, jerkward!" Whether the passing driver heard it she cared not, because she thumped her dashboard in a fury, before jamming the brakes, "Out of the way, bitches! Can't you see I'm a woman with essential needs during Christmas?!"

"Miss Trisher, may I advise you to keep cussing a minimum?" Mot was expectantly unfazed, his hands on his lap, but from the flicker of the reflection cast by the rearview mirror, Angela nodded. Pesty was flung to aside during the whole turning, with Warrace besides Marvin, cackling, "Ha! she cusses like a sailor!"

"What exactly is there to see in a mall, anyway?" Marvin asked as he tried to shove Warrace aside to make room in the passenger seat, grunting in dismay at the claustrophobia rising within him, yet to his frustration Warrace merely grinned and from the way he moved about in the car, seem to threaten to flatten Marvin into the door.

"Plenty of things," was the vague answer, but then she elaborated thanks to their confused expressions, "Like clothes, food—bountiful in amount! Then there's also a supply store, and since it's Christmas, there may be special events held at the main floor...and of course, my favourite thing about malls is the boutique." Marvin pulled his folly clothing in scrutiny, "Yeah, I definitely need new clothes."

X

To be an understatement, the mall was larger than they thought, and advanced with sales advertising technology and the amount of restaurants, shops, boutiques at each given floor of the building was packed into long rows, like shelves upon shelves of entrances to a different world of anything it was labeled for.

The floor was white marble with black lines running past bits of quartz occasionally, and polished like a mirror. The demeanor almost made it seem like a hotel rather than anything else, but Angela trice reassured them that it was just a simple mall. Warm, orange lights came in cartons, like eggs, from the ceilings, shining down upon the marble.

"Silent night...holy night..." The speaker had just finished playing "Jingle Bell Rock", but it didn't occur to them either way that it was another variant of "Jingle Bells" ("it's the same!" Marvin huffed), though it was the Silent Night that disrupted their stride a tad (again, the mention of anything medieval times greatly shook them anyway). "This place is admittedly welcoming," Mot muttered, casting his eyes all around, and even then it still was inadequate to take in the whole Christmas concept, "I like the lighting."

"So, here's the main square," Angela stopped midway and pointed straight at a large stalk of a Christmas tree that sat importantly at the center of an open area, where shops did not protrude into, "Meet me back here whenever you're done." They only listened halfheartedly; the tree's wrapped string of fairy lights spiraled along the side, and bushy wreaths hung aloof near them already lured them into a stare. A sole star pierced through whatever dullness the mall accumulated, as rays of its lurid, white light acted as a beacon. It was truly the heart of the mall (and besides the square was named in bold wordings, 'Vanity Atrium', much to Pesty's surprise).

"Woah, man," Warrace had to tear his gaze from the star, "Going into this place was one hell of a trip, and this is already the main attraction."

"Feel free to stare at it for hours," Angela flicked her wrist watch, "Because that's how long I'm going to be in here."

"As much as I would like to explore this place too..." Marvin held his hands up in surrender once again, then outstretched them to gesture to his other brethren as a general whole, "We're kinda penniless right now, you know." Much truth held out in his tone, and Angela could see that they weren't the most liquid people on the block at the moment... Or any other moment considering they barely do leisures or work.

Angela wanted to say, "What do you want me to do about it?" but she was the one who brought them, the broke men, all the way out of their confinement the first place, and it would impact her impression and relationship with the horse-riders if she was stingy enough to not.. Pay for them....especially since, well, they were POOR.

Actually, now that she thought over the things they had in their house, they were not only archaic, nor just poor, they were destitute!

"Okay, you know what? Christmas, season of giving," Angela pinched the bridge of her nose, slapping her mind to stop splitting apart like some thin wire, then turned back to face them, "Since you guys don't have much, I guess you'll just have to follow me. As much as I may look I'm rolling in money, I'm not, so please be mindful of the.. spending."

Of course, they didn't mind that at all, that they needed to tighten their grips on her money, and watched as she zipped in and out of shops the same applauded speed of a sewing machine. She would sprint into a shop almost bare handed, and return with joviality, while balancing five plastic bags in her hands.

"...Women," Marvin sighed as she eagerly retreated into another shop again, pitying her credit card, "I can never understand them." To that, Warrace gave a slight shake of his head, "Uh-uh uh, talking about women complications again, aren't you?" They had some freedom to visit the grocery store, and with that came the queues and the growing pit of impatience that roiled Warrace into a good mood.

"We might be horsemen, Warrace, but we're still MEN, for god's sake," Marvin snapped indignantly, "And don't you dare bring up the fact that I'm cranky because we're all virgins here!"

"Calm down, no need to bring up the fact we're virgins. Though, I barely know women  myself," Warrace inspected an apple at the cold aisle of fruit boxes next to them, "Heard they treat toilets like hotels. They talk there..it's their hang out place." Marvin blinked, wondering how he could have gotten that piece of information, which, might he add, was not as sound as it seems.

"Now, where's that turkey...?"

Meanwhile, Mot felt chaotic neutral towards suspenders as he gazed deeply into the windows of shops, leaning so close towards their display that onlookers had to glance his sanity. They came in different patterns and button sizes, which was peculiar to peer into, but the longer he stared at them, the longer he felt strange towards his own choice of clothing— no wonder Angela called him an elderly one.

On the other hand, Pesty didn't seem as ambitious as the others, he just trailed after Angela shop after shop, glancing occasionally around the shelves to see the charm of it all (while avoiding the mirrors which seem to taunt his reflection everywhere he went). "Damn, I just remembered something," Angela suddenly stopped, her new pair of shoes clacking with boisterous intent in the bags, "Hold these for me, would you? I just recalled I need a new bathrobe."

"...bathrobe?" Pesty repeated in a question, peering into the open bag of shoes, then back at her, "Go ahead, I'll wait here." Angela squinted, as though she was indeed concerned of him wandering off, but then dusted off the thought with a fleck of her head; this was Pesty she was worried about—the sweetest of them all.. Of course he wouldn't get out hand. With that registered, she headed into an adjoining shop which reeked of lotion, oils, balm all over.

"Nice," Angela whispered, trailing her eyes all over the stacks of pastel towels and empty shampoo bottles, then found what she was looking for. "Can I try them on?" she held a folded bathrobe in pink by clutching, inquiring the clerk, "Just in case, you know." The clerk flashed a smile and nodded quickly, "Of course, of course. Go ahead, miss."

Pesty stood outside, barely moving. So often he shifted his gaze, from the rafts of sunlight streaming in on the side of the windows, to the shop again. He was dressed oddly, but the oddness could have never been if he wore more black, yes, he used to be very fond of that colour. It seemed condemned, or unfortunate to even choose that above all radiance, but he had, last time, but it didn't seem so prideful now. It was just shameful to even recall that colour, because it was dark, like his history. Try as he may, he could scrub and cry all he want over the deaths, that he was foolish to be proud then, but the mark was dead set in a picture of black and white in his own memories, just as he used to want it, yet now it was pure guilt.

He used to only love his kind. The bacterium. His horse. Then the rest, the humans, as expense for them. He loved seeing them wasted, and enthusiastic about his work, too.. But then that day came, and the guilt flooded his soul, paying him as how he treated humanity the first place—twisting, churning, sinking his senses to rock bottom until he woke up panting from his nightmares, their dead gaze milky white.

But that was centuries ago.

"I've changed," he assured himself, "I've changed." Then why did he still sound like he was trying to convince others rather than himself, that even he had no faith in his spoken words? "I'm not a murderer..I swore off a long time ago... That's why I changed.. "

"—away from me!" Angela's voice brought him back in a snap, and she sounded distraught (when you've been a horseman long enough, cries of humans can mean many things, and half of them are inappropriate, but this was not one of them) than usual. Maybe he was over thinking, and perhaps she was just excited, but gut instinct once again sounded red alarms.

"Angela, are you okay?" He thanked the invisibility that shielded him from healthy people as he dashed into the store, "Miss Trisher, where are you?" All the same he cursed his height, as people stalked all over by his side, streaming back and forth with their heads looming his range of sight. Limited it was, to even crack through the shifting river of people in the shop...the chatter grew, and blanketed away his sense of finding the missus.

"Get off!" He suddenly heard a sharp slap erupting briefly from the changing rooms, slicing through the thick mutters of customers, and they were silenced, taken back by her shriek. Pesty whirled around and saw Angela yelling as she charged through a flurry of pastel curtains that led to the changing stalls, attempting to tackle a man in a cap by the arm, then failed as she smacked onto a metal rack of bathrobes by her side, losing her grip on the stranger.

"Shit!" The unknown man murmured, then Pesty heard a click when he placed his hand in his pocket, before he pulled out a handgun—the exact types in which the horseman once saw a robber using on the news one time.

"He has a gun!" Angela warned loudly, clambering up from her place, "Be careful!" She was changing when she saw him acting like a creep outside, and spotted the head of a barrel, a gun, poking out of his pocket. Of course, Angela was no heroine nor an ostentatious onlooker, but he seemed to close and unmindful that she was tempted, which resulted in events mentioned forehand.

Everyone in the shop melted into a nest of panic, clamouring against one another in the state of trying to exit in muffled screams, but the gunman recovered coincidentally (the bad kind of coincidence) and shouted, "Nobody move, or I'll shoot!" To emphasise it wasn't blatant lies, he clacked his gun upwards to the ceiling, then back again at the crying crowd.

"Pesty!" Angela whispered urgently, "What do we do?"

"I.. I don't know," he replied, covering his face with his hands from momentary shock, that this wasn't a nightmare, that the shop they were in was indeed being held gunpoint, "I don't want to hurt anyone!"

....

As the upper levels were frightening, the lower bases contributed as well. Chaos upturned the grocery store, courtesy of Marvin, who started the rampant by fighting a piece of raw turkey over another person seemed to delight in roasted food as well. The customer, an elderly woman, must have been starving, because she smacked him square in the face/beak? with her purse, "Let go, you gay Lady Gaga son of a bitc—"

"No! I saw it first, so it's mine!" Marvin interrupted, tugging the turkey hard by the wings, "Let go of it, you.. You cretin!"

"Ooh, you guys might want to stop fighting," Warrace felt all the power in him seeping  from all the frustration of the grocer, "It's getting real wild in here, Marv..." Not that he minded the calamitous monotony at the counters, he was pleasantly surprised that humans even compete in lining up, but something else was going on above them, and he didn't like it.

Someone was being threatened..Their murderous hands calling out to his existence.

"Ha!' Marvin completely ignored his comment, as he successfully won the tug of war, grabbing the turkey to his side, before he plunged into a full sprint that Warrace didn't bother until he realized with all this chaos ensuing, people were going to see him. He gave pursuit after his thieving colleague, panting.

"You stole the whole damn thing?!" Warrace exclaimed with a cringe as he laid eyes on the pink, fleshy turkey still raw between Marvin's hands. "No one noticed!" he persisted as assurance, going straight up an escalator, and Warrace retorted, "Well, the lady back there did! What would Mot say if he saw you hassling everything again?!"

"Mot can bite my ass!"

X

"Don't move, shorty, or I'll shoot your brains out!" Firstly, Pesty realized one second ago that the gunman actually had STD, which was awkward that he could see him, as he was trying to pry the gun out of his hands. Angela sighed and closed her eyes, wishing away the disastrous scenario which to say the least, "Christmas did not come early for me."

"...You have STD," Pesty told the gunman, but it was more of a realisation spoken out loud.

"How did you—scratch that, stop moving!" the man looked like he was going to explode from insanity, which Pesty sincerely hope he wouldn't.

"Please, spare the people," Pesty wanted to say, but the robber had this fierce, growling look that made him look like a manic, deformed madman, and he was swayed into an obsequious silence. He shifted gaze to Angela, who exchanged glances back and forth, caught his look and grimaced, "There's nothing we can do...can you call for Mot?"

"I don't know where he is!" he whispered back at her, making a subtle shrugging notion, then pointed to the windows, "But I think he's looking at clothes, too."

They waited in absolute silence, and the only thing breaking it apart was the shuffle of money from the cash register drawer that was pulled aside audibly. The metal casing scrapped the counter to a shrill scream, crashing down unto the tiles as the thief stuffed stacks of green bills into a beige bag he slung on his shoulders.

He then halted his stealing, and with a sneer, he raised the barrel towards Angela, "You, come here. Faster, before I shoot and throw your body over the railings!" Touchy subject: Criminally insane man uses lady in bathrobe as hostage, and everyone else dies. Or in Angela's journalistic perception: News Flash, twenty three year old journalist dies in bathrobe because harbingers of the apocalypse can't help.

Either one was equally humiliatingly stupid and morbid, but she could only submit herself into a literal hostage situation. She was forced to backed up against the man, feeling the hollow barrel of the gun stare into her skull—which might soon not be as hollow if he pulls trigger. "Screw this," Angela spat out, mustering a glare so ominous that even the apocalypse wouldn't be able to stop it, as she let her hands fall loosely by her side, using only her legs to maneuver according to the man's movements.

That's all? The world became ever do smaller as Angela was dragged outside of the store, scaring other shoppers as the gun remained intact by her head—That's all he was going to do? Stand there and watch his new friend who went through trouble the first place..just to be held hostage, while he, a horseman, just cowardly stepped back...?

Was this how change was supposed to happen? You don't point your knives at others, but they start pointing them at you? What's going on? Change just because you stopped hurting people and let them hurt you in return? Was this fair?

But.. the world wasn't fair.

Pesty didn't know what possessed him next, and gave a two cent guess that it was, perhaps, some sort of primal instinct or urge, but dropped her shopping bags in the process, so that much was clear to be registered. He knew that, but he vaguely saw himself lunging straight at the man, before he hoisted the whole gunman by the legs, bent himself upwards, and crashed both Angela and robber to the tile, emitting the sound of a body slapping the cold, marble floor.

Fwamp!

"Damn," Angela had, thankfully, landed on top of the fallen man, her elbows poking his eyes as she crashed previously. She massaged her back, then widened her eyes at Pesty,

"Pesty...did you just perform a German Suplex on him??"

"I did...?" No wonder his hands hurt from the strain, but he was equally intrigued and surprised, "I...Warrace once did that to me for fun and games, so I.. Picked up a thing or two.. I think."

"Hnnghhh," the man groaned, and Angela saw it as an opportunity to seize the high ground (except now, Anakin was already done for) and pried the gun out of his weary fingers. The shop workers have begun to notify for security control, and everything was wrapped up that fortunately, no one was injured, except for the thief.

"Oh dear, was I too hard on him?...his collarbone is a bit unhinged, " Pesty frowned in some concern as the man was dragged away by several security officers sanctioned by the mall, "I hurt him severely...it's my fault." Angela had other views about that, as usual, "He wasn't a good person, Pesty. He's the kind of people who takes away hope—"

She didn't finish her explanation, because they heard distinct yelling heading towards their direction, and lamented was Marvin and Warrace, swerving past everything with...

"Is that a turkey?"

"No time to explain!" Marvin shoved the plastic wrapped turkey into her open hands, "Start the car, we've gotta go!"

"W-What?!" Angela, flabbergasted, almost threw the turkey down, but Mot appeared at the last second to pull her away. He looked serious, but that wasn't out of normal, until he murmured, "Miss Trisher, this is a disaster— I've seem to have lost my shoes."

And as she looked down at his feet, only two bony remains of fleshy feet that was supposed to be covered with shoes, but they were gone, and he certainly wasn't holding them. "How did you lose them?!" Angela pulled him closer in inspection, heading down escalator after escalator to reach the parking lot outside. The others followed closely behind them, but Marvin was more violent and didn't mind tripping all over the place as long as it meant he wasn't going to be detained.

"It's a long story that shall never be discussed," came his only answer, and Angela ripped open the door to her car, panting, "Get in!"

The engine whirred with a hum and the car bumped to a start, before Angela sent it plunging down the avenue.

The whole ride was full of timid explanations that reminded Angela of awkward kids. "I stole the turkey," Marvin confessed after a very intense silence in the car as a vestige. He sounded anything but ashamed, which was very... Marvin of him.

"And let me guess," Mot peered the rearview mirror on top, "Warrace didn't even advise you to put it back, that you were stealing... A turkey." The car sped past grey highways and glazed skyscrapers in a blur. Warrace shifted uncomfortably in his cramped space, "Hem, you see, it was... complicated. He took it and ran, so technically, I didn't had the chance to stop him....or advise."

"Guys," Angela's mouth curled into a large grin, but she faced the road, trying to lighten the mood, "The store I went into just now was being robbed. And the asshole had a gun, but Pesty saved the day by giving a solid German Suplex on him."

"Dude, really?" Warrace turned to the shorter man, "You whacked that guy with pure force...eh eh eh..that's..hardcore."

"You should show that side of yourself more often," Marvin smirked, finally being able to pull down his surgical mask, flexing his sharp teeth to freedom again, "But seriously, a German Suplex..? That's very un-you."

"My hands hurt though," Pesty grunted in response, rubbing them together, "If I was a bit more stronger... "

"You flipped both of us! Me and the robber! How isn't that strong?" Angela snapped up in front.

The rest of the ride was quiet, but Angela was just in relief that Mot didn't pursue the whole turkey scandal, to speak of which, is now with Marvin.

Yet after all the supposed peril and internal conflict, they sought to the very end, an agreeable answer. Or resolution. That Christmas was...fun, despite everything that seemed to bestow chaos. It was really fun while it lasted, and they didn't think they would have an experience like that again.. Or as long as the memory is fresh in their minds.

"Miss Trisher," Mot cleared his non existent throat, tilting his head to face her, "Ahem..I guess Christmas...despite the troubles...was... Fun."

"You don't have to force yourself to say that it's fun," Angela, for one, was still in an unpaid, pink bathrobe, cracking her fingers on the steering wheel, "I know.. That it was.. Disastrous. I got held hostage..you lost your shoes, Pesty seems upset thanks to me, and..that's not even a turkey. It's chicken."

"Wait, come on, what the fu—" Marvin dropped the thing.

"I'm sorry that I made it sound so fun and exciting.. But then it turned out..bad," Angela sighed and hung her head with one free hand, "I just thought, you know, I could get you guys out of the house since it's supposed to be a special season and everything...yet things didn't go in favour. And... Yeah."

"Oh Angela," Pesty tore his gaze away from the window, staring straight into the rearview mirror so that she could see his expression, "None of us blame you. You tried, but maybe.. Somethings are just not meant to be. And besides, the gang got a kick out of it. Warrace seems content with all the chaos.. And Marvin is just in disbelief.. He'll recover. And Mot was interested in something else besides his typewriter for once, and I got to flip someone. If you ask me, that's pretty neat. It's not grand or anything, but the fun is in the freedom we have in the first place."

"Pesty....you guys," Angela grinned again, "Thanks..Merry Christmas, I guess."

"What about my turkey?!" Marvin yelled, still sentimental about the betrayal.

"Forget it," Warrace laughed at his displeasure, "You're having an apple tonight."

With that, he tossed the horseman an apple, that almost seemed like a red ornament, but he bit into it, and it wasn't.

Well, as Pesty said, fun was in the freedom they had.

It wasn't anyone's idealistic Christmas—but it was a Merry Apocalypse in the end. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really fun (and tiring) to write, but I'm more eager to see his future work than anything. For now, have a swell holiday, Mister Boredman. I enjoy everything about Apocalyptic Horseplay, and would still love and appreciate if I could ever write another piece for it again. Thanks for reading.


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